


Back Before We Were Brittle

by Faoi_chielt



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Genetic Modification, M/M, Space AU, spacer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faoi_chielt/pseuds/Faoi_chielt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some snippets of Theon and Robb interaction for my Space Colony GoT/ASOIAF ‘verse.  </p><p>Theon is a Kraken.  When the seven space colonies were founded after The Long Night forced humanity to flee Terra, the Iron Born chose a small aqua-planet to colonize.  They used genetic modification to adapt to the difficult environment.  As a result, Theon has webbing between his fingers and toes, extra eyelids like a reptile for seeing underwater, gills, and a few other internal mods like enlarged kidneys to process the excess salt from the water of his home planet.</p><p>The ‘verse follows the same general canon of the series.  I figure it’s relatively harmless to post character pieces like this till I’ve finished writing out the plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Before We Were Brittle

[x-posted to the 'verse tumblr I made](http://krakenofthegalaxy.tumblr.com/post/98333844046/back-before-we-were-brittle).

***

 

> _Maybe we should move someplace new_
> 
> _And build time machines to go and get us back_
> 
> _Back before we were brittle_

***

“Gods damn it!” snarled Robb under his breath.  He felt a fool, struggling to string a bow of all things.  “We’ve had rifles for thousands of years.  This is absurd.”

“Not nearly as absurd as firing a rifle in a pressurized vessel in the black of space, little wolf.”

Startled, Robb’s grip on the bowstring slipped and he swore again as it whipped down then across his body.  Seven hells, that stung!  Robb glared over his shoulder at Theon.  The older boy was standing at ease, rocking on his heels lazily with a faint smile on his handsome face.  Irritated, Robb fought a rising flush.  He was the eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark and he’d just made a fool of himself with a longbow in front of  _Theon Greyjoy_.

Vain and a braggart he might be, but Theon had every reason to boast about his skill with a bow.  Ser Rodrik had declared him a master at the tender age of ten and two.  There was not a better marksman in all of Winterfell.  Robb had come here today with the express intent to practice solely to feel less a disgrace next to his friend on the practice range.

“Then give me a short sword any day,” Robb muttered angrily, clenching the bow in his hand in frustration.  “Only in a Colony would you need to worry about a ranged weapon, anyway.  A ship is far too small.”

“You haven’t been on enough ships then, m’lord,” Theon said, with a grin.  It was clear that now he was  _trying_  to rile Robb.  “Our raiders are the largest small class vessels in the Westerosi Alliance and believe you me… there’s room for a quick enough bowman.”

Robb scowled.  Leave it to Theon to remind him that he’d never gone further than Winterfell’s outer ridge in a simple supply ship.

“Robb,” Theon said quietly, face softening slightly.  “You’re too hard on yourself.  You spend more time in tactical lessons, etiquette courses, and bloody political science shite than any one highborn lad should ever be subjected to.  And you’ve still managed to master the sword.  By the Drowned God, you’re just twelve years old!”

“You were just my age and declared a master marksman,” retorted Robb defensively.

“Yes, and I skived off my lessons as well as never sat in on your father’s councils.  The bow was my only friend,” Theon shook his head slightly.  Robb knew he was the only person ‘round that the dark-haired boy would have ever admitted these things to.  He was humbled.  “Then you started to follow me everywhere… my own fire-haired pup.” 

Robb rolled his eyes in a manner that would have had his mother, the Lady Catelyn, boxing his ears something fierce.  And she didn’t even  _like_  Theon.  His lady mother was nothing if not adamant on the proper etiquette of Winterfell’s heir.

“Alright, alright.  You’ve convinced me,” said Robb.  “I just—“

“Hate failing at anything at all?” finished Theon as he grinned impishly.

“Oh shut up, you smarmy git and help me string this maddening contraption,” replied Robb with a grin of his own.

Theon, with more patience and less mockery than anyone else in the keep would have believed, spent the next several hours training Robb.  He demanded they stop when Robb’s arms were visibly shaking, the bow dipping with every draw.  Robb had managed to hit closer to the bullseye than ever before and Theon’s pride warmed him.  He vowed to keep practicing.  There wasn’t a chance in the seven hells he’d ever be as good as the Iron Born, but Robb Stark certainly had his father’s determination if not his coloring.

It became something solely theirs.  Less and less did Robb turn up to his practices with Theon driven by the idea of achieving greatness with the bow to prove himself a worthy heir.  Instead, he came with the joyful idea that this was  _his_  time.  Theon’s approval of his progress meant the world in its simplicity.  There was no expectation of greatness nor lordly behavior.  Their friendship was only strengthened and as the months passed into a year, Robb realized that their training sessions had evolved into a closeness he’d never imagined sharing with anyone but his brother Jon.

In truth, as Robb’s lanky limbs began thickening with muscle and his voice started to crack like a whip, his thoughts strayed from brotherly closeness and into an entirely foreign territory.  He’d overheard from many of the keep’s gossips just what his friend Theon spent free time doing.  Robb always hurried past these tittering conversations with an uncomfortable heat rising in his face, praying fiercely to go unnoticed. 

Sometimes, when Theon leaned closer to share a whispered jape or furrowed his brow in concentration while drawing his bow, Robb felt a sharp spike of something indefinable in his gut.  Unbidden, always unbidden, those illicit conversations would rise in his mind to drown out his senses. 

_“— and the things he can do with his  **tongue**!”_

Robb swallowed roughly, throat clicking with the strain.

_“Well, those gills of his must be good for something, you know!”_

During these moments, it took all of his considerable willpower not to drop the bow and cover his ears, however ineffectual the attempt might be.  Theon would surely jeer at Robb to discover that a boy of just thirteen years ( _soon to be fourteen!)_  had—well, that he—Gods!  What a fool he’d be!

Robb could not bear the thought of Theon’s gentle scorn.  For the first time in his young life, Robb Stark found himself too afraid to act and so buried his confusing feelings on the subject deep down in the recesses of his soul.  After a time, it seemed as if Robb had never been assaulted by them to begin with. 

_****_

_“Eight thousand years ago, man first became a colonizing force in the galaxy.  The First Men had abandoned Terra in desperation.  Its natural resources were stripped and planetary change had begun a new Ice Age which rendered the conditions of Terra perfect for the Walkers to attack. And so The Long Night began.  Within a generation, half the planet’s population had been harvested by the White Walkers or died of famine.”_

“Oh aye, and last night a grumpkin granted me the biggest cock this side of the ice belt,” muttered Theon with a ridiculous waggle of his brows.  Robb laughed, startled from his dutiful note-taking of the droning vid. 

“Oh good, you certainly needed the help if what the gossip says is true,”  replied Robb quietly.  His friend’s answering scowl sent him into a fit of quiet giggles.  Theon, despite Robb’s continual warnings of mind-numbing boredom, had deigned to keep him company while he studied for final exams.  Robb pressed his attack. “Not all of us are naturally gifted, Theon.  There’s no shame in it.  Maester Luwin says—”

In a petty move, Theon reached over and snared Robb’s stylus before tossing it blithely over his shoulder.  He grinned at Robb’s disapproving frown. 

“Ah, there goes the Tully in you.  Your face looks just like your Lady Mother’s did when she caught me chatting up the new archivist.”

“And rightly so,” Robb muttered.  He paused the vid.  There would be plenty of time to study later. “You’ve no need to add to your list of lady conquests within Winterfell, Theon.”

Theon snorted, hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. “No need at all, you’re right.  Especially as I’m sure Jerrod would take issue with his addition to such a list,” he replied airily. 

Robb’s jaw sagged open.

“Oh don’t look so scandalized, Stark,” said Theon.  “Not all of Westeros has such a narrow view as here in Winterfell.  A universe with so many genders… it seems a shame to lay with just one.”

Despite his bold words, Robb could see a shadowy doubt lurking in Theon’s gaze.  Surely, he didn’t think  _Robb_  would abandon their friendship over—never!

“Theon, I don’t mind who you sleep with so long as you keep it out of my chambers,” Robb said warmly.  “Stumbling across your tryst in my bed once was bad enough.  I still have nightmares.”

 _Liar_. 

“You’ll never let that be, will you, Stark?” Theon grinned, posture easing into laconic once more.

“Not likely,” replied Robb, who felt his fond expression thinned with anxiety. “Now stop distracting me, damn it.  I’ve exams to study for.”

***

 

 

The Crone had risen high in the sky with the Smith trailing after like an elder brother.  Newly fallen snow blanketed the ground in plush white, fat flakes descending in gentle billows.  It was the gentle beginnings of what would be a typical harsh winter in the wild beauty of The North Colony and it was Robb’s favorite time of year.  The fading edge of the crispness of autumn surrendering to the bite of true cold was exhilarating.  He supposed that such change was simply exciting to a sheltered lordling such as himself.  For him, there truly was no greater joy than the stars wheeling overhead and the feeling of the pressing threat of danger that his home posed during the coming season.

It made Robb feel alive in a way that summer never had.

“It’s colder than the Deep out here,” Theon muttered between clenched teeth. “You’re soft in the head, Stark.  There’s an entire castle of warm hearths, mulled wine, and soft laps to be had behind us yet here we are.”

“Yes,” smiled Robb.  “Here we are.”

Greyjoy snorted, the sound made ugly rather than haughty due to his sniffling.  Unable to help himself, Robb chuckled quietly.  An Ironborn in the North.  As he’d aged, Robb had slowly come to realize just how like a fish out of water Theon truly was here in this harsh land. 

“Surely you aren’t chilled as bundled as you are, Greyjoy,” Robb teased.  “If Bran were to come up, he’d probably mistake you for a mammoth.”

“Even a mammoth has more sense than this,” Theon griped back morosely.

Robb eyed him seriously, “You didn’t have to come with, you know.”

“Oh shut up and pass the wine, pup.”

They sat in companionable silence for what felt like quite a long time.  Soon though, Robb would have to return to the Great Hall.  A nameday celebration would be bereft without its honored guest.

“You know, if you were Ironborn, today would have gone much differently,” Theon said suddenly.  The older boy twisted his hands more tightly within the thick furs draped over his lean frame.  “We celebrate a lad’s fifteenth naming day only after he has proven himself worthy.  Or at the least… failed honorably.”

Robb sighed, “Tell me then, Theon Greyjoy, what masterful feats of bravery must an Iron lad achieve?”

“He must strip naked and taking only a shark spear made from his own hands, enter the Deep Waters.  When he returns, it must be with a shark’s severed fin and its teeth.  Or wounded.”

Stunned, Robb looked over at his friend.  “That’s… barbaric,” he said.

Theon tipped his head back and laughed darkly. 

“You Starks baffle me…  _Winter is coming_ ,” he mocked gently.  “An Ironborn must prove his mastery of the sea.  We separated ourselves forever when we chose the Iron Islands.  The water is our mother now, but it is a fierce womb we are nurtured in.”

“What does that mean for you then?” Robb blurted thoughtlessly.  He winced, but continued with a dogged determination.  “There are certainly no sharks here for you to hunt, naked or otherwise.”

“Were I to return home as I am now, I would be seen as a child,” Theon replied flatly.  “Or worse… a coward.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Robb exclaimed angrily, clamoring onto feet made clumsy with outrage.  “You are no child!  You’re a good man… a friend to me and you’ve done naught but fulfill your position in Winterfell with honor.”

It was not often that Robb saw Theon speechless, but his friend recovered quickly.

“You are a fool, Robb Stark,” Theon said thickly.  There was a telling wet sheen to his gaze that sent a spike of anxious affection through Robb’s chest.  “A kind-hearted, naïve, but honorable fool that I—“

“Quiet, Greyjoy.” Robb said quietly, his own voice unsteady.  He sank to his knees amidst the fresh powder and cupped Theon’s face with his hands.  “If I’m a fool then you are an idiot and what a pair we make.”

“Robb,” Theon whispered, handsome face twisted with far too many emotions.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Robb said warmly.

He leaned forward then and kissed Theon with a tenderness unexpected even to himself.  Strong, chilled fingers circled his wrists and Robb startled back slightly.

“Don’t you dare,” Theon growled and Robb had only the barest moment to feel his heart sink before finding himself being thoroughly kissed.

 _Oh_ , he thought dumbly.   _Not angry then._


End file.
